


TG: it was about me dying repeatedly // TT: It's probably not about dying at all.

by crescendi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ambiguous Narrator, Canon Compliant, Derse (Homestuck), Dream Bubbles, Gen, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Pre-Suicide Mission, snarky broads and their horseshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescendi/pseuds/crescendi
Summary: the dual perspective of himself and the crow, the strange and twisted walls surrounding him, the hyperawareness as he went forward again and again, the muted pain as he fell to the ground, blood gushing out of veins.





	1. His hands keep turning into / birds, and his hands keep flying away / from him. Eventually the birds must land.

dave's legs swing against the metal. it's a sticky houston afternoon, and the sky above him is a sickly, oppressive red. below, tall uniform buildings sprawl outwards, all awash in the same warm tint. he squints at his phone over his shades, at the purple text waiting expectantly for a reply.

TT: Why don't you tell me more about your dream?  
TG: ok   
TG: so i kept dying and kept being crows and stuff   
TG: and then i started to notice something coming from the sky   
TG: it was this faint eerie singing and i look up and theres nothing there just darkness

the details return to him as he types them out, which is usually the opposite of how talking about dreams work. the dual perspective of himself and the crow, the strange and twisted walls surrounding him, the hyperawareness as he went forward again and again, the muted pain as he fell to the ground, blood gushing out of veins.

TT: That's interesting.  
TT: I've read about this.  
TG: what did you read

closer than dave thinks, rose types out a response from a swirl of snow. she takes a moment to adjust nrub'yiglith's coal teeth with her gloved fingers before resuming their conversation.

TT: Certain texts say singing from the unknowable void carries a message.   
TT: That its recipient has been selected for a mission of supreme cosmic importance, that will result in your death and that of billions more.   
TT: But one that is essential to the perpetuation of existence itself.  
TG: what the fuck sort of crackpot psychology text would say something like that  
TT: It's not from a psychology text.  
TG: so then youre consulting astrology books now  
TT: Not astrology.   
TT: More like,   
TT: Zoology. 

she's all too familiar with the singing dave's describing, except she did not have the luxury of dismissing it as a lingering dream or a roof over her head to return to. she's not exactly telling the truth here (she would rather suffer a just death than willingly slough through a dull paper written by some stuffy academic), but zoology is, in fact, the most accurate subject humanity has invented to describe the singing in dave's dream.

besides, astrology is more jade's forte.

dave, though, reacts predictably. 

TG: oh my fucking god will you put that away  
TT: Ok.   
TT: Keep describing the dream, though.   
TT: If the rest of it is incompatible with prognoses of the zoologically dubious, I will withdraw my insinuation.  
TG: theres not even much more to it   
TG: i looked up into the sky  
TG: didnt see anyone singing  
TG: but even though the sky was black i could see the sun  
TG: it was bright as hell even through my shades  
TG: so i flapped my wings and flew up away to it like a fucking piece of garbage  
TG: and thats it 

he doesn't remember reaching the sun. he remembers staring into that black sky and the distant, icy star, like an inverted white sclera and dark iris, branding itself on his corneas. he remembers the calm settling over him, lifting up to fly into the sun, like some off-brand icarus.

TT: This doesn't strike you as an impulse of self destruction?

rose's attention to her snow sculptures of fluthlu and nrub'yiglith has been abandoned. dave's psyche is one she hasn't fully scoped; was this a suicide attempt or a martyrdom? but aren't all martyrs a certain brand of suicidal?

TG: no  
TG: not in the sense that it was a dark sacrificial zoology mission  
TG: it was more like somewhere to go besides watching myself die a lot from the vantage of a feathery murder of dumb shitty birds 

his lines of text are coming slower now, as if he's thinking about his words for once in his life. rose is more concerned by the fascinating prospect that dave would kill himself simply to escape, if this dream truly is indicative of his subconscious impulses.

TT: So, if hypothetically you were to accept such a mission, or even insist upon one, it wouldn't be in the spirit of genuine sacrifice, but of escape?

the poised question lingers between them. rose can't help but smile at the irony of the situation. it's many seconds before dave forces himself to tap out a response.

TG: what the fuck are you talking about   
TG: ok somethings wrong   
TG: this whole conversation is falling apart this isnt how it originally went at all  
TT: Aw. We were making good progress, too.   
TT: Why did you have to go and remember?

her disappointment is only half-feigned; she would love to fully explore the depths of this dream and the implications of his death, but it appears the metaphorical jig is up.

TG: this happened months ago   
TG: does this mean im dead

rose's eyes crinkle at the edges.

TT: What do you think?  
TG: stop it  
TG: this is so sick you using the dream bubble bullshit to pick apart my psyche  
TG: am i dead or asleep

isn't sleep simply practicing for death?

TT: If you're starting to remember, you should be able to tell me.  
TG: god dammit  
TT: Maybe I'm just as confused as you about it?  
TG: yeah right

if she really was, then she'd cut the bullshit and come clean. no question mark anywhere near this convo. 

TT: Am I dead or asleep, Dave? 

he practically can hear her voice through the screen.

dead or asleep?

how's this for an answer, lalonde.

TG: i dont know

what's the fucking difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from unfinished duet, poem by richard silken.


	2. You cannot be a hero without being a coward.

their appearances are the first change: rose becomes longer-boned and her eyes more tired. dave's hair shortens itself and his shoulders broaden. they are both gangly with adolescence and the baby fat of prepubescence starts to lift from their bones.

then their clothes exchange themselves to the regalia of the seer and knight of derse. gone are pink overcoats and oversized jeans. lavender cloth drapes itself over their shoulders in their place. a layer of gossamer black lipstick appears over rose's lips, and dave's pointed shades exchange themselves for a pair of aviators.

last, their respective landscapes knit themselves together and then they stand together in the purple dreamworld called derse, with the perpetual night air pressing down on them.

rose meets dave's eyes. "try to remember, then," she prompts.

snarky broads and their horseshit. ugh.

"i remember waking up here," he starts, hesitatingly. "after getting shot."

"yes," she says, equally slowly, matching his monotone. he can't telling if she's mocking him or not. "what else?"

"then the cage bunny came. he gave us the bomb." a frustrated frown twitches at the corner of his mouth. "where'd he go anyway?"

"she's around,” rose corrects.

"the bunny's a she?"

"her name is liv tyler," rose says, patiently. 

"dumb."

"take it up with john," she says, less patiently. "what else?"

dave’s eyes study the ground, though behind his mirrored shades it still looks like he’s looking ahead. "we were talking about who should go."

her words are coming faster now; she's more interested now that dave’s brain has decided to provide relevant information. "do you remember what we decided? 

"no." then his face screws up. "wait." rose waits. "wasn't i going to go? is that what happened? did i go, and now i’m dead?"

rose's smile betrays nothing, conveys nothing. "not quite."

"what's not quite? that i didn’t go or that i’m not dead?" he slips his hands into his pockets, hiding his aggravation behind a thin veil of nonchalance. the difference actually kind of matters here.

she dodges the question. "do you remember anything else?"

"no.”

she tips her head to the side, like she’s all innocent. "what about why you went to fight jack?"

if dave had chewing gum, he would have popped it. "sure, i did that because i wanted to." a lull. "and because i was supposed to."

"are you sure?" supposed to could mean many things. obligation or prophecy, for example.

"yeah, i saw my future self fighting him, so obviously that had to happen, or else i'd be dead anyway, without even getting the satisfaction of standing up to him." his tone hardens, takes a resentful turn.

"so was your decision a result of desire or obligation?"

"hard to explain with all the time shit going on. i don't try to understand your light shit, do i?" rose snorts at this. she's probably the worst light player in existence.

"i don't know much about the light shit, to be honest." she tilts her head up, closes her eyes. "i may have missed my chance to figure it out."

"haven't we had this conversation already?"

"mostly." but she's relishing the chance to relive it. her head levels itself, and her gaze meets his again. her expression seems clearer now. "i'm doing what i can to jog your memory."

"it's jogging, i guess." he adds, "it's manboobs are jiggling a little."

"nice." she nods. "so what about jade?”

it takes him off-guard. "what."

"you didn't tell her your expedition with her would result in your death, let alone one she'd inadvertently cause. or that she'd be stuck with the job of resuscitating you. did you?"

great, now she's guilting him. his voice turns into a mix between hostile and desperate.

"what am i really supposed to say? hey, we're gonna hunt frogs til you shoot me through the jack, then i die and you’ve got to make out with me. that kind of changes how the whole thing goes, doesn't it?" he lets out a choked wheeze that was supposed to be a lofty laugh, but it died halfway out of his throat. instead of unconcerned, it just makes him look pathetic.

rose is unrelenting, unsympathetic. "not if you're ‘supposed to,’ right?"

dave is, understandably, frustrated. "what does that even mean?"

"i guess you're right. no reason to make an effort to empathize if doing so comes at the price of oblivion."

in three words, dave sums up how he'd feel about that sentence in any context, in any timeline.

"what the fuck." 

rose talks over him. "it must be comforting to have your aspd tacitly supported by predestination."

his eyelids shudder downwards for an instant. he gives himself a second to try to process all the bullshit that’s happened to him in the past week. "aspd?" 

she smiles. "antisocial personality disorder."

he smacks his hand against his face. "oh no. this conversation just got bumrushed by a mudslide of fucking awful."

rose's eyebrows lift. "it wasn't already awful, believing you might be dead?"

"you don’t know anything." he's speaking through gritted teeth. “about what i was feeling or what happened on lofaf. you were all pavement faced and babbling your throefester speak and flipping off the shit with your own crazy deathwish thing. why do you think you know what was going through my head? you’re just assuming and throwing around psyche buzzwords like aspd complex disorder."

she picks and chooses what she responds to in true lalondian style. "so it's a disorder, a complex, and then a disorder again for good measure?"

dave smirks. "in your case, probably."

"sounds like a positively _delirious_ state of existence.”

he nods solemnly. "it's some delirious biznasty alright."

it's a welcome distraction, is what it is. "oh...snap?"

"yes, imma authorize a god damn. you may swipe it at the door to check yourself into the burn ward."

rose folds her arms, leans forward, something that might be a smirk or might be a smile lifting the corner of her darkened lips. "might you loosen the purse strings on an 'oh no he didn't?'"

"nah, those are kept in emergency reserve for yo mama jokes from the 90s." he huffs. "anyway.” breaktime’s over. back to business. “i'm telling you, if i said anything at all about it, she probably doesn’t even fire her gun once and all i'm doing is dragging her into a doomed timeline with me." the harleyberts are funny like that. they won't do anything they know will go against their morals, even if it damns them. dave wonders what that's like, not sacrificing your own decency even for the sake of an entire timeline.

"i guess i'm learning to be impressed by your sense of obligation to inevitable misfortune. it's a strange case of inspiration through futility."

dave doesn’t meet her eyes. "none of this is that big a deal. i just mentioned the basics to her, that i’d stop time traveling soon, break out of the loops, not have to wonder all the time if i was taking a wrong turn and dooming everybody. i was never that cool with this."

"with what, exactly?"

isn't it obvious? "you know how you turned out to be this incredibly shitty seer of light and basically failed at that in every way imaginable?"

it's true, and she's thought it privately many times, but it's still jarring to hear her brother say it aloud. "hey!"

"well, maybe i never wanted to be a knight of time. maybe i'd rather just be like, the dave of guy. you know, just some dude."

rose has never wanted to be 'just some dude'. she has always wanted to leave her name carved into the pillars of history. "these really do not sound like the words of someone ready to face his own death." well, they both already have died, just not permanently. she clarifies: "the kind you don't wake up from, i mean."

"i guess not. guess i failed my quest, then." he doesn't sound too disappointed. "so i'm like, now what bitches? to nobody in particular, i guess."

"the unseen bitches callously conspiring to expect greatness from you?"

dave suppresses a snort. "yes, those exact bitches"

"if that's how you feel, then why did you insist on going on the mission to deliver the tumor?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from a quote by george bernard shaw


	3. The glow from the moon shone through cracks in your hair

rose’s face is cast in violet and red, but the other half of her features are in shadow. her blonde hair floats in the strange gravity of the moon, winding out like tendrils from her head. dave's toes just skim the ground as he follows her to the tower that he spends his dreams in.

"that's what happened. i delivered the bomb and now i must be dead." his words ring with certainty, no hint of the stumbling he once spoke with.

her head turns away from him; now, he cannot see her expression at all. "are you sure?"

"is that wrong?" he counters.

her words are patient, but there's a hit of exasperation. "maybe you should try to answer the question. why did you want to go?" she sits down at the computer; the chair creaks under her weight. she starts to type.

dave doesn't pay attention to her, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "because i made the map so i know how to get there better."

"but it seems simple enough. a set of bearings to follow." dave saunters towards the monitor. "see? the application pilots the moon. change course when necessary. anyone can do it, really." his hands push down on the back of the chair. the pressure makes it creak in complaint. "we talked about this. debated, if you recall."

he's tired of her crap. "okay, if you remember it all so clearly, why are you grilling me on this shit? will you just tell me what's going on?"

her voice rings with pseudo innocence. "i'm just seeing if you can remember. and if you're sticking to your story, about why you should be the one to go."

goddammit, this is all so confusing. "well, i am. because i should." he reconsiders his choice of tense. "or should have." fuck it. he blows out a breath. "man, what the fuck is going on? am i dead, or are you dead, or what?" at this point, being dead would be a welcome simplification.

she promises gently: "you're almost there, really. just try to remember a little more. what happened after we decided you'd go?"

"uh." he straightens and scratches the side of his neck; the chair sighs in relief as he takes his weight off of it. the memory resurfaces. it’s odd, remembering an event you’d forgotten in the same room it took place. behind his glasses, his eyes drift over the bed, the crude drawings on the wall. he can see the ghost of the outline of himself and his sister, huddled over the maps and graphs on the floor, planning out their demise. "we were trying to figure out a way to detach the moon, so i could pilot it out there." he wets his lips, mouth suddenly dry. "fly it into the sun."

rose swivels around in the chair. her eyes are intense now, and dave can barely find the strength to say: "but the chain was huge."

the scene shifts; now they are standing at the base of the chain that connects derse and its moon. they are dwarfed by the chain, making it all too clear that they are just children, hovering between the worlds of dreams, reality, and quietus.

a jumble of memories materialize in his mind and words tumble from his mouth freely. "couldn’t think of how to break it, then out of nowhere this sword appears in the thing." as he speaks, he notices a blade embedded into the violet metal between them. he's not sure if it was already there or if his recollection willed into existence. dreams are funny like that. death is funny like that. "so i'm thinking obviously i have to break the sword somehow, because that's all i fucking do is break swords." rose stays quiet, but her expression shifts into a deadpan that says all it needs to. "but as i'm thinking of how to do it, i put my hand on it, and it just snaps off with this comical shattering noise, like i just fucked up some priceless shit in the louvre.”

dave places his hand on the hilt. as soon as his fingerpads touch the steel, a piercing sound of something smashing richoches through the empty air. the blade snaps in two. neither brother or sister are surprised. “see, like that. like i did again just there with my hand. cause of dreambubbles.” he turns to look at rose. “remember when that happened?”

“mmhm.”

dave bends down and picks up what’s left of the sword, a uselessly jagged silver edge. “then i sliced the chain.”

dave floats up, lighter than air. rose follows, hovering a few feet below him. “like this.” faster than the eye could follow, dave or his memory severs the chain cleanly with only the broken blade. “damn, it still cuts like it’s plowing through a shaft of boneless zombie meat.”

“so then, the moon started to drift away…” true to his word, the moon begins to float off into the medium now that its only link to its planet is severed. was severed. remembered that it had already been severed. “and i was going to fly up, and take it to the sun, and i said something to you, or i was going to, like say bye or something...but you were just standing there, not saying anything...holding that ball of yarn…”

the pieces start to fall into place. “and then—” he turns around, jaw dropping as he realizes rose’s betrayal. “oh god, that’s right.”

rose smirks, takes the luxury of tossing in her palm once, and then throws the ball of yarn at dave’s head.

it doesn’t knock him out this time, but the scenery does change again.

this time, he’s in rose’s room on derse. a laptop, propped up on a hardcover copy of grimoire for summoning the zoologically dubious, waits for him, already signed into his pesterlog account.

TG: come on   
TG: knocking me out so you can steal the suicide mission   
TG: god dammit    
TG: that is so trite   
TT: I really am sorry for that.

dave’s disgruntlement does not come off as even half sincere, but rose’s apology is without sarcasm entirely. both siblings, for once, are completely honest.

TG: its like   
TG: heres how bad this is   
TG: we are basically bruce willis and ben affleck from johns shitty crappy movie   
TG: you made this even more armageddon than it already was   
TG: sealing me in the air lock so i can go home to liv tyler and have the most terrible babies with her

in dave’s room on derse, rose smiles at the computer. in her life, she will regret many things throughout her childhood. this conversation is not one of them.

TT: If it's any consolation, Liv Tyler came with me on the suicide mission.   
TG: the bunny or the actress   
TT: Which would make you feel better?   
TG: you not knocking me out with a ball of fucking yarn is fucking what 

rose is sympathetic. if the situation had been reversed, she would be furious with dave, and rightfully so. she could easily divert the conversation onto an easier topic, leaving them with a happier, if swallow, last impression of each other.

but she doesn’t.

TT: If I could have chosen a method of sparing your life you might have found more awesome, I would.  
TT: Is there an "ironic" way to do that?  
TG: this probably comes close but that doesnt make it not lame as hell  
TT: Does it matter if I took some personal satisfaction seeing you fall unconscious at the gentle glance of a soft cotton globe?

dave scowls at the screen. he shifts the laptop so he’s holding it in front of him as he starts to leave the tower. his bitterness leakes through into his typed reply.

(bitterness at a dead girl. what would his brother think?)

TG: its cool you are so tickled by this i hope it brought you a lot of rad laughs on your way to go fucking explode  
TT: …  
TG: so thats it  
TG: im actually lying here on derse asleep  
TG: and you went out there and blew up the sun  
TG: and now youre dead and im dream chilling with your smug ghost

bile starts to rise in his throat. how is he going to break this to john and jade? his hands curl around the laptop until his joints start to ache and the metal creaks underneath, even though he knows it logically can’t.

there won’t even be a body, just complete obliteration.

TT: Yes to the first part.  
TG: so youre not dead  
TT: Not yet.

dave hovers outside of the tower’s window, balancing rose’s laptop on the flat of his palm and his knee. rose’s back is turned to him, hunched over the laptop in a clumsy arch.

TG: then youre dreaming  
TG: what youre taking a little nap on the moon in the middle of nowhere  
TT: Afraid not!  
TT: I am wide awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from unfinished business by mumford and sons


	4. We were always at the end. It's a free play, buddy. Clock's all zeroes. It's after the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rose and dave sportz conversation

dave drops down into the tower. in her chair, rose turns around, apparently having heard his arrival. dave shuts the laptop, and their conversation continues without seam.

“i am piloting the moon through the furthest ring right now. at the moment, it's passing through a dream bubble. i am visiting your dream in person.” she tips her head and rephrases as an after thought: “or, you are the one visiting me as i travel, in your sleep. if you'd rather look at it that way.”

dave strider is pissed and it shows. “okay, so all those questions you asked me? getting me to remember? you were just stalling me, weren’t you, so i wouldn’t wake up and try to stop you.” he folds his arms across his chest. rose presses her lips together.

“not entirely.” it doesn’t sound as detached as she’d like. it’s the voice of a child talking to her brother before she dies because, well, that’s what’s happening here, isn’t it?

dave’s pride isn’t even an afterthought in his mind. “this sucks. could you just please turn the thing around and come back?” his voice cracks. rose steels herself, or at least tries to.

“why?” her voice is harsh. “i'm already out here. might as well go through with it.” might as well. when has rose lalonde done anything because the reason was as weak as ‘might as well’?

“we’d agreed i’d do it though,” dave insists. “or at least, you pretended to agree, just before going into a major league wind up with your nap yarn.”

“a major league wind up?”

“sports.” his expression is completely serious.

rose rolls her eyes. the responsibilities of sisterhood. “it's always been pretty sad that i seem to know more about sports than you. which is really saying something.”

“all i’m saying is no one likes a basketball hog.”

“it's probably just ‘ball hog,’” she points out, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling, leaning back in her chair.

“i just think you should know that in the athletic arena of competitive achievement it's a widely known fact that cherry picking posers get showered in nothin’ but boos. you don’t gank the rock and steal the big mans thunder on his raucous drive to the hole.”

she rests her cheek in the flat of her palm. “oh lord.”

“is that the sort of ignominy you want?” dave drawls out. “see, you didn’t consider sports. you never consider the sports.”

“the last thing i want to do is come between a big man's thunder and any particular hole he might prize,” rose comments as dave rambles on.

“and yet, such has been what's happened. it, like the tight end, was going long down the yard in sudden death. it’s me. i’m the tight end. and the quarterback sniped the field-goal just before the nfl buzzer went off.” he pauses for effect, to let the full effect of this sicknasty burn sink in. “the greedy qb is you.”

rose keeps herself expressionless. barely. “that's not even close to being a thing in football.”

dave prattles on: “but instead of winning the gold sports prize you just fucking die and nobody cares and it didnt mean anything.”

she raises an eyebrow. “which prize is that?”

he stumbles. “the football prize.”

“you mean the most vaunted accolade associated with the gridiron, known as "stanley's cup?’”

“no, come on,” dave deadpans. “it’s called the bruce bombardi trophy or something. for best pile squad.”

rose sighs, a smile on her face. “i’ll take your word for it.”

“and even though you’re dead, all these fat millionaires in helmets just leap on your corpse anyway and pile up - and i mean  _ way _ up.”

rose gasps in a flanderization of a scandalized lady, painted fingers fluttering over her painted mouth. “how high do they even have to be?”

“the sport pile doesn’t stop from getting taller,” dave says solemnly.

“does the officiator have a means of measurement on hand? i wouldn't want to be crushed by a nonregulation sport pile.”

dave snorts. “what do you care, you’ll be dead like the mission thieving poser you are.”

“poser?” rose’s lips downturn and she crosses her legs. “so not cool.”

dave practically giggles. “yes, poser, it should be my torso getting pulverized by that avalanche of overpaid beefcakes and you know it.”

it’s rose that breaks their unspoken staredown. “i forget what we were doing exactly. were we pursuing the hackneyed debate over who has the best claim to self sacrifice, or seeing who can out-dumbass the other with obtuse sports lingo?”

“there obviously stopped being a difference between those things. the question is offensive.” he stops, then adds, “almost as offensive as you stalling me while you peel out of here in your—dumb moon.”

rose almost scoffs. “i'm the one stalling? the moon is probably just a speck in the sky now due to your strange beefcake harangue.”

“yeah, but i don't know how to wake back up is the thing.” he bites the inside of his cheek. “ _how_ do i wake back up?”

rose’s eyes study the floor. if rose was a lesser girl, one not as dedicated to this martyrdom, her voice would be small.

“i guess i could wake back you up, if you really want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from 17776


	5. The sound is like a rustling coming from chambers. / someone sifting through thousands / of pages, the histories of rapture, / looking for a happy ending.

dave slips his hands into his pockets. “okay, then do it.”

rose sets her jaw. “but you have to promise to stay put. don't try to stop me. just let it go.”

“but this was my mission.” his protests come out weak, halfhearted.

rose looks at her brother with pity, speaks condescendingly. “it really makes no sense for you to go. this was never your preoccupation.” her eyes flicker downward. she looks like an ancient priestess, or perhaps her sacrifice, waiting for her blood's turn at the altar. or maybe both. “they selected me a long time ago.”

“that doesn’t make sense,” he points out. “why would they drag me into it just to have me make a map, and then let you ditch me? they’ve obviously been gunning for me too.”

rose nods. “yes, they helped you chart a path through the ring. and they will open that path for a pilot they have marked.” she intertwines her fingers and stands up. she’s only an inch shorter than him. “i believe i fit the description. i'm not sure about you. 

he’s taken aback, and it shows in the waver of his voice. “why do you think that?”

“i am the pilot. that's all there is to say on the matter.”

“but i don’t want you to die,” dave counters.

“help john and jade,” she insists.

dave groans in protest. “this isn’t right.”

rose folds her arms. “then i'm not going to help you wake you up.” she smiles, all teeth and no warmth, tilts her head to the side. “i'll stall some more.”

dave marks that down as a win in his book. “so you admit you were stalling with all that bullshit.”

rose forces her voice to be steady. “i said, not entirely.”

“what do you mean?”

rose leans out the window of the tower and studies the lavender city below. “it's going to be a long ride through all this nothingness,” she says, almost inaudible. “maybe i just thought some company would be nice.” her eyes flutter shut, gossamer eyelashes brushing against the hollows of her eyes. she breathes in, breathes out, both times shakily. “before it's all over.”

dave doesn’t know what to say to that. he just looks at his sister, a little sadly.

neither speak.

when rose breaks the silence, her voice is stronger. colder. in rose’s mind, they are synonyms. “so what’ll it be?”

“what?”

“i'll wake you, but only if you promise to rejoin the others.” rose straightens suddenly and turns to face her brother. “could you give a message to john for me?”

“sure. but. if i’m promising not to chase you down then there's not really any hurry to wake up.”

rose tosses the ball of yarn in her hand up and down, smirking. “aw, are you sure? i was looking forward to bowling another wicked googly with the yarn. sportsways.”

dave shakes his head. “nah, i’ll stay asleep a while.”

“okay.”

dave sighs. he’s not letting rose go.

or at least, not go alone.

“what did you want me to tell john?”

rose jerks to attention, eyes wide. “what was that? 

dave starts at her sudden movement. “what?”

she focuses on dave, eyebrows furrowed. “did you hear something?”

“no, what?”

“i thought i heard something outside...”

dave wakes up on derse for the last time, alone for the hundredth, his broken sword beside him.

what’s the difference between sleeping and dead?

well, there’s really none at all.

he looks up at the black, starless sky.

he stands up, hands wrapping around the blade’s hilt. then he lifts up off the ground, into the furthest ring.

this time, there’s no song. this time, there’s no crows. this time, the sun is green instead of white. this time, he’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the sacrifice, poem by li young lee


End file.
